


and sweetest in the gale is heard

by madamebadger



Series: the thing with feathers [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Established Relationship, F/F, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Music, Singing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-15
Updated: 2015-03-15
Packaged: 2018-03-18 02:09:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3552098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madamebadger/pseuds/madamebadger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They are a matched set, but sometimes it takes some effort to see precisely how well they fit each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and sweetest in the gale is heard

It is late, and Cassandra drowses with her head in Leliana’s lap, waiting for Leliana to finish her correspondence so that they can go to sleep together. (It is an eternal compromise. By choice Leliana would keep irregular hours, and most of them late; by choice Cassandra would keep orderly hours, and rise early. There are many days when it is not worthwhile for them to try to align their schedules, but sometimes, when they wish to, they will.)

But the room is warm, the candle burning low, and Cassandra has had to jerk herself awake from nodding off three times already as Leliana—eyes shard-sharp on her letters—finishes what she is doing. 

The third time, Leliana lowers her scroll and looks at her, then bends to press a kiss to her forehead. “ _Mon coeur_ ,” she says, “I am keeping you up, aren’t I?”

"I don’t mind."

"Let me just finish this," she says, "and then you will have my full attention." And sure enough, once she has finished reading the scroll in her hand, she sets all her papers aside. "Now, then. Sleepy Cassandra," she says, all affection, and Cassandra smiles.

"Would you do something for me?" she asks.

"That depends." Leliana’s hand, free now from letters and scrolls, strokes through Cassandra’s hair. "What would you like?"

"Sing me something?" Cassandra can feel the startled way Leliana straightens. "You have a beautiful voice, everyone knows that," Cassandra continues. "But you almost never sing anymore. Please?"

There is a long soft silence, Leliana’s hand still smoothing Cassandra’s hair, making her want to arch and purr under the touch like a happy cat. Cassandra knows that she is asking something important of Leliana. Leliana sang for pleasure less and less the longer she was Left Hand, and almost not at all since Divine Justinia’s death. But still. Still. Still, it is something she wants, something she is willing to ask for. 

Finally, Leliana says, “What shall I sing you, then?”

"Something… frivolous," Cassandra says, and smiles at Leliana’s reflexive laugh. "Something like… a ballad, or a heroic lay, or—or—"

"Or a love song?" Leliana’s voice has gone low, silk-soft. Cassandra can feel her ears heat up.

"Perhaps."

"Mm," Leliana says.

"If you don’t want to, you don’t need to—"

"No, I do," Leliana says. "Hush a moment." She hums a few bars, her hand sliding down to stroke her thumb gently over Cassandra’s cheekbone, and then she begins to sing.

It is a song in Old High Nevarran, a language that Cassandra had once been taught, although she is now rusty in it. An old song, old, old—something between ballad and love song. The story of a woman locked in a tower with only a mirror for company, and the knight who saw her reflection re-reflected in a lily-pool, and the quest to find the holy blossom that would free her from her imprisonment. A story of despair and loneliness, and hope and heroics, with a happy ending full of kisses and flowers and weddings.

It is a beautiful old song, but Leliana’s impossibly sweet voice renders it transcendent. Cassandra’s eyes drift shut, seeing behind her shut lids all of it: the great high tower, the knight a-horseback, the mysterious and magical wild flower blooming in a thorn-brake, that grew only in the land of fire and ice, past a hundred tribulations—all worthwhile in pursuit of love. Cassandra luxuriates in the beauty of it, Leliana’s voice in her ears and her fingertips on her skin and the high wildness of the romance. 

"There, now," Leliana says, when it is done. "Was that what you wanted?"

"Yes," Cassandra says, sinking into the honey-sweet warmth of it. "Thank you."

"Oh, you should know by now that thanks aren’t enough. I shall need payment," Leliana says, her voice bright and blade-sharp and laughing.

Cassandra pushes herself to sit up, raising an eyebrow. “Oh?”

"Kiss me," Leliana says, "and we shall call all debts repaid."

"That," Cassandra says, "I can do."

Leliana’s lips are as flower-sweet and intoxicating and dangerous as the weapons she wields in daylight and dusk. They kiss and kiss again—Leliana’s mouth hot and clever-quick against hers—and then again, and Cassandra thinks _Three times paid, then_ , and laughs against Leliana’s mouth. And perhaps Leliana knows why she laughs, because she smiles, then, that wide soft smile that makes kissing at once awkward and wonderful. 

"So," she says, quiet against Leliana’s throat, in the moments that pass, warm in the low candlelight. "I am not sure if I am the knight or the lady."

"We are neither," Leliana says. "You and I, we are the briar that solves all things, flower and thorn. I could not tell you which was which, though," she adds, and her eyes are soft, lovely, sad.

"We are both of us both things," Cassandra says, “flower and thorn,” and then puts a note of impatience in her voice: " _Obviously_.” And Leliana laughs, sudden and surprised, at that tone in her voice. Cassandra says, “Kiss me again.” And Leliana does.


End file.
